


The Baker's Boy

by Unforth



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Baker Dean Winchester, Bestiality, Canon-adjacent, Castiel and Jimmy Novak Are Twins, College Student Dean, Coming Untouched, Dean and Sam aren't hunters, Explicit Consent, Implied/Referenced Incest, John Winchester Not Being an Asshole, Knotting, M/M, Marathon Sex, Mildly Dubious Consent, Past Character Death, Rimming, Supernatural Elements, Twink Dean, Unrealistic Sex, Werewolf Castiel, Werewolf Jimmy Novak, Werewolf Sex, it's John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-20
Packaged: 2018-10-15 04:25:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10550038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unforth/pseuds/Unforth
Summary: The motor on the Impala is dead and Dean can't afford to replace it. Walking around the forest between where he and Sam live and his job adds half an hour to his new on-foot "commute," which is just ridiculous. Sure, everyone says the forest is haunted or houses a cryptid or some such bullshit but Dean knows better, and he values sleep. Of course, there are *some* things lurking in the forest, but what do wolves care for humans? Nothing. Obviously.*NOTE ON CONSENT: Cas and Jimmy are werewolves. While consent is mildly dubious because wolves can't talk, it's also explicit, in that Dean does actually establish consent before sex begins. Hence the contradictory tags.*This is full-on bestiality. If that's not your kink, stay away.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh...so yesterday kinda sucked? I got very little sleep, which meant writing anything that actually mattered was pretty much impossible. While I was awake through much of the night, I made up a story about twink Dean, werewolf Cas and werewolf Jimmy. Since I had the brain function of...I don't even know...a dog?...yesterday, writing this was about all I was capable of.
> 
> So, when I was college, I played a lot of table top roleplaying games. In one White Wolf game, I played a Gangrel (if you don't know the game this is gibberish I'm sorry I'm still kinda out of it) and my Gangrel could turn into a wolf, and she met another Gangrel that could also turn into a wolf, and the GM decided they had wolf sex, surprisingly graphically...he was kind of an asshole and liked seeing female players get a little hot and bothered...and to my surprise, the wolf sex DID get me hot and bothered, and I spent a lot of time after that fantasizing about wolf sex (while not knowing much at all about, say, how wolf dicks work). This has been a major kink of mine since then (15 years, folks) but it took me a long time before I could: 1. admit this to other people, 2. actually seek out bestiality porn, 3. admit to READING bestiality porn, and 4., finally, actually write my OWN wolf porn. 
> 
> I've been wanting to write wolf porn for ya'll for a while but I'm a chicken shit.
> 
> But here we are.
> 
> This fic is total bestiality. Dean gets off on being fucked by wolves. That said, they are werewolves and there IS consent so it's not too bad in that regard at least. These wolves are intelligent and sentient.
> 
> Heed the tags. Read at your own risk. :)
> 
> I split this into two chapters to facilitate posting and reading, due to the length. They should both be up today.

The Impala was toast.

Every time Dean remembered that, he sighed. Before he died, John made Dean swear that he’d take good care of Baby. The car was precious to John, and Dean wanted to honor that, but there was no way he could repair it. If Dean was honest with himself, he knew dad would understand. Dean wasn’t to blame for the damage that almost 50 years of wear-and-tear had done to the engine, and dad had _also_ made Dean swear that he’d not forsake his own dreams and his own education in support of Sam or anyone, much less put himself second to a _car_. Which injunction was the more important was obvious, and working full time early mornings and attending college classes during the day scarce left enough time for homework and dinners with Sam and sleep. Without a second job, for which there was no time, there was no way Dean could afford tuition and a vintage car engine, so the Impala would have to wait.

“Look at it this way,” Sam said with his usual air of casual acceptance, simultaneously annoying and reassuring to Dean, “you’re going to get a lot of exercise! Weren’t you complaining that you were putting on chub since you started working at the bakery?”

“I never did,” said Dean with mock effrontery. “I’d never use the word _chub_.”

“Hate to break it to you, but you just did, Dean…”

“Alright, _Sammy_.”

“Oh, low blow…”

“I can stop bringing cinnamon twists home anytime you want,” Dean said, pulling his ace in the hole.

“Don’t you _dare_!” Sam made a show of shocked dismay. “You win this round, Gadget.”

Dean grumbled about the necessity of walking, but secretly he liked the journey. Lawrence was quiet and peaceful at one in the morning. The city was safe, and if Dean found himself at the wrong end of the one-in-however-many statistics, he knew how to defend himself. John had been a marine, and he’d trained his sons in self-defense, among other things. He was more tired than he had been - it was nearly an hour walk from home to the bakery and he had to wake up considerably earlier to ensure he’d make it on time - but while Dean might be able to get a job closer to him, he didn’t want to. The Baker’s Boy was a good fit for him. Dean liked working with hands, loved kneading the dough and chopping the fruit for the pies and folding the delicate layers of puff pastry. He did none of the baking; Dean’s job was to do the early prep so that when the other employees came in, everything was ready for them to bake fresh bread and muffins and croissants and eclair for the morning rush. Dean was there six days a week, six hours a day, which when he had a car got him home in time to see Sam before Sam caught the school bus at 8:15.

With his car out of commission…

One of the best parts of the bakery job was that Dean had his choice of yesterday’s unsold baked goods to take home with him. As the only early morning employee he got first crack at what was left, the best of the best, and yeah, the muffin tops were definitely giving him a bit of a muffin top. Dean would pick out his and Sam’s favorites and they’d share breakfast together, but now there wasn’t time. It messed Dean’s whole day up. He scarce got to see his brother as it was, usually going to sleep around the time Sam got home from school, and sacrificing their breakfasts together was unacceptable.

 _There has_ got _to be a better route…_

Dean’s walk to The Baker’s Boy was circuitous. Lowlands separated Dean from the job, and no one walked through the dense, scrubby forest that had grown through the broken land. Wild claims were the only explanations for why locals avoided the woods – some claimed that Bigfoot hunting unwary hikers, others that the woods grew over a secret government nuclear testing site during the 50s and the whole valley was radioactive, still others blaming ghosts, sewer crocodiles, Bloody Mary – if there was an urban myth, people suggested it. Dean even heard the Jersey Devil and chupacabra as possible culprits. So-and-so’s brother’s cousins ex-boyfriend had disappeared in the woods!

It was all clearly bullshit.

 _No one_ had ever disappeared in the woods. Dean had checked.

Walking through the forest shaved nearly 30 minutes off Dean’s route.

The first morning, Dean was nervous. He jumped at every clatter, every rustle, then berated himself for how ridiculous he was being. It was the woods. There were trees. He’d spent days in similar second-growth forests, hunting with his father and Sammy when he was a kid. Spooking himself out was juvenile. Despite his remonstrances, his heart beat didn’t slow until he emerged on the other side of the woods, a few blocks from the Baker’s Boy.

The second morning, Dean forbade himself from looking around at every noise, eyes straining to see through the deep shadows.

By the sixth morning, Dean had grown used to his new route. Nothing lurked in the forest that didn’t belong there. The novel sounds were now familiar. The woods were surprisingly dense, considering they made an island of wilderness amidst the city, and with his anxiety no longer causing him to jump at shadows, Dean learned landmarks, recognized the trees and shrubs, and kept his eyes open to spot the local wildlife. Deer, raccoons, and owls haunted the night, and howls distorted by tree trunks spoke to coyotes or wolves stalking through the moonlight.

“You’re walking through the _forest_?” asked Lisa, incredulous, when Dean casually mentioned his route as he clocked out and she clocked in that day. Saturday’s, Sam didn’t go to school and Dean only had one online class, so he could take his trip slow.

“Uh, yeah? Dude, it saves me an hour or more. It’s actually pretty awesome in there. Why doesn’t anyone…?”

“Wolves,” she said sagely. “ _Everyone_ knows that.”

“No, it’s haunted,” the owner, Ellen, replied.

“That’s absurd,” scoffed Lisa. “There’s no such thing as ghosts!”

“But there’s such a thing as wolves that’d live in a square mile of scrub brush in the city?” Ellen said, rolling her eyes.

“My cousin went in on a dare once and he said he _saw_ them,” said Lisa as if she’d scored a point, but Ellen didn’t look impressed.

“How high was your cousin when he said that?”

“What, so you’ve seen _ghosts_?”

Dean left them to the argument. Working at the bakery could get monotonous; talking about the forest myths would give them something to pass the time.

By daylight, the woods were not mysterious. Based on what John had taught Dean, he recognized the signs of a past storm - probably a tornado - that had ripped up many trees, especially ones that had been young when the damage was done. Amidst older growth and many saplings, fallen stands made thickets that Dean skirted. Within minutes of crossing the border, he might have been miles from civilization. He’d forgotten how much he loved that feeling of isolation. Since John had died, camping trips had been off the table; Dean was only 20 and supporting himself and his kid brother, there was no money for even minor luxuries.

_But isn’t that the joy of the bakery job? I don’t have to afford pie. It’s free!_

Spring was kind to the forest. Pale green growth adorned every tree and bush, and flowers bloomed in the undergrowth. Birds chirped their joy at the dawn in the branches overhead and a doe took alarm as he walked by and sprang into action, fleeing with a clatter through the underbrush. With a bounce in his step, Dean made his way home.

He’d promised Sam that if, after a week, he still didn’t feel comfortable in the woods, he’d go back to taking the longer route.

Dean _loved_ the forest.

“Good,” said Sam, or at least that’s what Dean thought he said; it was hard to understand around the buttercream frosting thick in his mouth.

“ _Someone_ should be worried about chub,” Dean observed, taking a triumphant bite of his comparably healthy bagel.

“You used the word again…”

“Fuck you, bitch,” said Dean fondly.

Even without the Impala, they’d manage. Was it how Dean anticipated spending his young adulthood? Hell no. But they were happy.

And it’s what John would have wanted.

* * *

The full moon made the woods eerie. Dean hadn’t noticed until about two weeks into taking his new route how _dark_ the forest was when there was no moon, and the contrast between that and how bright it was during the full moon was remarkable. Dead trees surrounded him, snagged against the branches and trunks of the living, skeletal, bark made gray by weather and the faint white light that trickled through the canopy.

A wolf howled.

Dean wasn’t nervous.

He’d been taking this route for a month. The wolves - or coyotes, he reminded himself, which were more likely to assume an urban lifestyle than a wolf was - never came near him. Why would they?

_Werewolves!_

_Yeah, that’s about as likely as ghosts._

Chuckling, Dean skirted the ravine he’d accidentally found a week ago when he fell into it, walked down a deer run that made a pseudo-path for maybe a quarter mile, and did his damnedest to ignore the growing sense that he had a problem.

But he _definitely_ had a problem.

Dean needed to pee.

Something large rustled through the woods, masked by the dense growth that made a tangle of the ravine. Now that the local wildlife had grown accustomed to Dean invading their domain, now that his scent crisscrossed the terrain, they paid him little mind. The deer ignored him. The raccoons never cared where he went. Dean had done more to avoid the one skunk he encountered than it did to avoid him.

The distant echo of a car horn reminded Dean that he _was_ in a city, but he was easily a ten minute walk from civilization in any direction - farther if he turned right, which was vaguely northwest. He was still fifteen minutes from work and his bladder was insistent.

 _That’s why God gave men dicks,_ John used to joke, _to make it easier to take a leak in the woods_.

Grumbling under his breath, thankful that at least it was warm, Dean found a promising tree, one of the broadest on his route, and dropped trow.

Pissing was a relief.

When he was done, he pulled his pants back up and continued his walk.

Whatever caused the rustling seemed to follow him all the way out of the woods.

Nonsense. Just his imagination. There was no cause for anything to follow him, merely confirmation bias: his brain’s insistence on identifying patterns where there none. A series of random, unrelated sounds became _poof_ connected.

When he stepped onto the street, he turned back to the woods, but there was nothing there.

Of course there was nothing there.

* * *

 _Gotta stop drinking Sam’s ridiculous smoothies right before I hit the road_.

Shaking his head at his own absurdity, Dean looked around for a likely tree. Three days since the moon reached its brightest. Three days into the week. Three days since Sam had promised to _do his part to help Dean take better care of himself_ and left a fruit spinach weird-ass (and more delicious than Dean would ever admit to his brat of a kid brother) puree thing in the fridge for Dean to drink for breakfast. Three days that Dean had needed to piss like a fricken race horse long before he made it to work.

The forest was densest in the middle. The local fauna felt safest here, and even when it was pitch dark Dean constantly caught flickers of movement in the corner of his eye. Now, with the moon high, the forest was astir around him. Sometimes he could see what moved, more often he couldn’t, but the sounds - of detritus crunching underfoot, branches snapping, animals snuffling, leaves brushing leaves in the wind - were continuous. Unconcerned, Dean didn’t bother to try to sort through what was what. Undergrowth distorted sound anyway; what seemed close might be completely out of sight behind a screen of trees and what seemed far might be practically underfoot.

_Everything that lives here pisses in the woods, too. They don’t care if I splatter some more on some unoffending tree._

With a pleased hum, Dean pulled his pants down and exposed his cock and the top of his ass. Ellen was pretty lax about what he wore in the kitchen. As long as he donned the slip-proof shoes that never left his locker, black pants, and a chef coat, she couldn’t care less. Sweat pants made Dean’s morning much more pleasant and--

\--and there was something _right behind him_.

Dean’s breath caught. So far, no creature had sought him out, but to be so close, this one must have. Afraid to turn around and look, his mind conjured images of cryptids galore. No amount of telling himself such things didn’t exist calmed his nerves.

Once or twice, what he and Sam and John had hunted in the forest hadn’t been deer.

Dean knew an impossible thing or two lurked in the world.

_Just had to be so clever, just had to assume that an urban forest couldn’t possibly house anything dangerous, just had to scoff at the rumors._

_I’m going to die and I’m never going to see Sam again._

_Son of a bitch._

Hot breath huffed over his exposed skin as whatever it was sniffed him. The nose was cold, wet - like a dogs, Dean thought, struggling to keep calm, struggling to keep his wits about him.

Everything would be _so much easier_ he wasn’t _actively fricken pissing_. No matter how freaked his mind was, his bladder hadn’t gotten the memo.

_No. More. Smoothies._

Trying to catch a glimpse behind him, Dean shifted slightly around the tree. Whatever it was _must_ know that Dean knew it was there, but it did nothing save nuzzle at the small of his back, smear it’s cold nose over him, and cause a shiver up his spine. Movement in front of him caught his eye and he tried to appear casual as he moved his head to see what lurked before him and perhaps give him a hint of what stood just behind.

_If it’s something truly dangerous, surely the other creatures would stay away. How many deer have I seen tonight? If something murderous roamed the woods they’d flee. That’s what dad said. Seek out the places where no other animal wants to live, that’s where the wendigo hunts, where the rugaru stalks the night._

A wolf stepped onto a dead log mere feet away, dead bark flaking away under its sharp claws. Moonlight made the spot bright, gleamed silver off thick fur and white teeth, twinkled in blue eyes. Enormous, there was no way it was a feral dog, not a chance it was a coyote.

_I’ll be fine. Wolves don’t eat humans. There’s much better prey to be had in the woods._

_What did Lisa say about werewolves?_

_It_ is _the full moon._

Nerves flaring, Dean tried frantically to remember what John had told him about werewolves.

_Eat human hearts. Hunt in packs. Only appear at the full moon._

_Do not actually turn into wolves!_

_God, dad, I hope you’re right about that…_

Dean jiggled his cock to shake free the last droplets of urine.

_Probably just pissed I’m marking their territory. I’ll just…_

“Uh...sorry ‘bout that,” Dean muttered, feeling ridiculous. Speaking was reasonable, he reassured himself. If they were werewolves - _how am I actually considering this?_ \- they would understand, and if they weren’t werewolves, hearing a human voice might scare them into leaving.

The one on the log blinked at him; with its eyes closed Dean realized how bright its gaze was, casting strange shadows over its snout and the liquid gleaming on its nose when its eyes opened once more.

 _Yeah...right...there ain’t_ no way _that’s natural._

_Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fu--_

The one behind him _licked_ him.

“Not lunch!” Dean squawked. A huff of hot, wet air brushed over his bare skin. Alarmed, he tried to tuck his dick away but the one facing him growled and he froze. Thick, muscular tongue ran over Dean’s flesh again, teased at the top of Dean’s crack, and a hitched sound leaked from him.

_Would a regular wolf…?_

_Would a_ werewolf _…?_

_What the actual fuck is going on?_

Teeth snagged the waist of Dean’s sweatpants and tugged the elastic down over the curve of his ass.

_I mean, wolves are smart and all but this is fuckin’ something else…_

_Isn’t this the part where I should be running, screaming in terror? Or stopping it?_

_Consent! Consent! Bad touch!_

The tongue lapped down Dean’s crack, the chill smear of the nose a fascinating - _fascinating??_ \- contrast to the hot moisture.

_Except...it feels kind of good._

“Uh...so...hi?” Dean licked his lips, trying to work moisture back into his mouth. The wolf behind him ran its tongue down his crack again and Dean shuddered as trickles of pleasure and fear alternately trailed like touch up his spine. “My name’s Dean.”

_Brilliant. Now I’m talking to a wolf. Maybe this whole thing is a fricken hallucination. The strawberries in my smoothie turned. They’ll find me babbling about pink elephants or some shit._

_But it feels kinda sorta really damn good._

“Just to be clear...that’s, uh--” The wolf licked directly over the pucker of Dean’s hole and he gasped. His fingers, yet around his cock, tensed as he began to thicken. “You’d stop if I asked you to, right?” he said in a high-pitched rush.

The touch to his ass disappeared.

The one facing him from its perch atop the dead log nodded solemnly.

 _Yep. Totally out of my fucking mind_.

His cock bulked against his palm.

The licking didn’t start again. The night was warm, but not warm enough for Dean to stand bare-ass naked and damp without noticing the chill. A shiver wracked him, pricked goose bumps along his arms.

“Right...so...you gonna…?”

The distinct sound of chops being licked seemed loud behind him, and he could swear that the one on the log rolled its eyes at him, blue brilliant in the darkness.

_Holy shit on a stick, are they…?_

“Are you waiting for me to say I want this?”

The werewolf nodded again. Something - Dean could not have said what - about the set of its haunches communicated exasperated. With a heavy sigh, it jumped down from the log and on to the forest floor. The bed of dead leaves crunched under its weight, and as it circled around the tree, moonlight silhouetted it and Dean caught a glimpsed of the heavy droop of its cock.

_His cock, Dean. His cock._

Desire burned hot in the pit of Dean’s stomach.

_Something tells me this isn’t what dad meant when he said he was cool with whatever floated my boat after I told him I thought I was queer…_

_...but they’re clearly intelligent, they’re respecting my boundaries, they’re gorgeous, and I’d be lying if I pretended it had never crossed my mind before._

Reaching behind himself, Dean shimmied his pants down farther until they fell with a _fwoomp_ to make a puddle of cloth around his ankles, grasped his cheeks and spread them apart.

_Something tells me I’m going to be late to work._

The tongue of the wolf behind him lapped over his anus, pressed against his hole, and lit Dean’s head up with pleasure like the fricken fourth of July.

_As long as I get everything done by the end of my shift, Ellen won’t care._

_Christ that feels good_.

Dean’s knees shook. Leaning against the tree before him, he shimmied his ass back closer to the wolf’s mouth. The one facing him appeared to be grinning.

_Gotta be my imagination._

_Yeah same as the way I’m getting rimmed to kingdom come by a wolf is my imagination._

_If this is a dream I hope I don’t wake up before the happy ending._

_And that I don’t cream the sheets, I don’t have time to do laundry._

Tongue wiggled against him, slicking his crack, ample saliva beading and flowing toward his balls. Dean sighed bliss, fingering at his cock, as the tongue pushed into him, stretched him, then pulled back. It - _are they both men? God, I hope so_ \- lapped at him again, again, fucking gently against his entrance. Dean wasn’t sure if the wolf _actually_ delved deeper with each thrust, or if the sensation was his imagination, and he didn’t care. He hitched his hips back against the muzzle, relished the tickle of fur against his skin, and gently stroked at the head of his cock, pleasure intensifying, strengthening, shivering through him.

A growl jerked Dean’s attention back to the world, back to his surroundings. The second wolf had moved while Dean had been distracted - _right, sure, nothing distracting about having a wolf fuck my ass, what are you, other wolf, a fricken voyeur?_ \- and stood scarce an arm’s length away, canines barred.

“Wha?” Dean mumbled. He couldn’t believe how gone he already was, lulled by the fatigue of his schedule and the wonderful feel of tongue pushing through the muscles around his entrance, pushing deeper into him.

_God, I wonder if its tongue is long enough to reach my prostate?_

His thumb worked idly over the head of his cock, smearing pre-come around, and the wolf snarled again.

“You...you want me to stop touching myself?” asked Dean, incredulous.

The second wolf dropped to its belly, stretched its head up and licked Dean’s cock.

“Oh, fuck…” he breathed.

There were no more words after that, nothing but sensation. In between flares of pleasure, Dean wondered _why_ this was happening, what the wolves got out of it, but it was hard to worry about what they were experiencing when he felt so frackin’ _good_. There was no tempo to be found, the two wolves working independently, one encircling Dean’s dick with his tongue, the other thrusting in Dean’s body, no longer withdrawing, fucking him as well as anyone with a penis ever managed to do.

 _They_ do _have penis’ though. I wonder how that would feel?_

Dean wasn’t nearly as ashamed as he should be to realize he wanted, desperately, to know.

The wolf’s tongue flicked over his prostate.

With a groan, Dean came, rocking desperately against the mouth of the one in front him. Through misty eyes he could see the row of sharp teeth but he wasn’t scared. Maybe he should be, but with pleasure thrumming through his limbs, with his come splattering the snout and gleaming faintly in the blue light of the wolf’s impossible eyes, Dean couldn’t bring himself to feel anything other than bliss.

The wolf beneath him looked up, long tongue gathering every drop of tongue, and their eyes met.

“Thank you…” said Dean tentatively, sinking to the ground. He twisted to finally see the one behind him.

It was identical, in every feature, to the one he’d seen. His gaze flicked between two matched pairs of blue eyes and a shiver ran through Dean.

“Maybe we’ll...do this again sometime?” he broached.

He was _sure_ it wasn’t his imagination that their mouths twisted into matching broad, inhuman grins.

Sponging his crotch off with his pants, covering himself, Dean felt a flicker embarrassment.

Not only had he come depressingly quickly, he hadn’t gotten _either_ of his partners off.

He couldn’t muster an iota of shame that they were wolves.

_Maybe next time, I can give them what they need, too._

As he walked away, Dean glanced over his shoulder. The two wolves faced off, silhouetted by the moonlight. The one that had been behind him tackled the other, almost like…

 _...like they’re going to get_ each other _off._

_Good. That seems fitting._

_Whatever they are, whoever they are, I hope I see them again sometime…_


	2. Chapter 2

“I’m thinkin’ I’m gonna start leaving earlier again,” Dean said, struggling to keep his inflection normal. The words came out gruff, but at least they didn’t come out excited.

“Oh?” replied Sam, glancing up from his homework, chewing on the end of his pen. “Good. I didn’t like you wandering around that forest alone in the dark. Daytime is one thing, but I’ve heard some stories. Lenore says there are vampires.”

“Come on, you don’t believe there are vampires in some random forest in Lawrence, do you?” Dean scoffed. Sam looked up again and gave him a stern look.

“Monsters can be anywhere, Dean, that’s what dad said,” Sam replied.

“So now you’re believing things dad said? That’s new.”

“Are you trying to pick a fight over this?” Sam said incredulously. “Dean, you don’t have to, like, prove your manliness to me by making bad decisions. If you’re uncomfortable walking through the woods at night, that’s a _good_ thing. Sensible.”

“Right, of course,” said Dean, disgruntled. He wasn’t annoyed with Sam.

_Let it go, Dean. He doesn’t know the truth and he never will if you keep your damn mouth shut._

“Need any help with your homework, baby bro?” Dean said.

Sam took a deep breath, sighed it out, and said, “Yeah, sure, can you explain molarity to me? This text book makes it sound like gibberish.”

“Sure thing…”

_I’ve done a lot for Sam, but on his deathbed dad made me swear not to give up myself for him. I’m allowed to reach for things I want. I’m allowed to take an extra half hour in the morning to maybe get some. No, unprotected sex with random sentient wolves was not what dad had in mind, but my sex life never was and never woulda become his business, or Sam’s, or Ellen’s, or anyone._

_But I wish I knew who those two wolves were. Even if I just knew what name to moan when they fuck me..._

* * *

The walk on Monday was lonely. Looking up at the moon and the crescent slice missing from one side - _that’s gibbous, right?_ \- Dean felt like a moron. Of _course_ his strange wolf stalkers weren’t there. They were _werewolves_ – had to be werewolves, that was the only reasonable explanation for their obvious intelligence – and that meant they were in wolf form only a few nights each month. He got to work early, made up for the few minutes he’d been late by the previous day, and hoped like hell Ellen would pay him for the extra half hour. She probably would; she’d been...friends was the wrong word...politely antagonistic with John before he died, and she’d offered Dean the job as soon as she’d heard what happened. During his lunch break, Dean googled moon phase charts. The next full moon would be in 26 days - _duh_. He just had to wait until then.

The days passed in a blur, as they usually did. Dean was busy: perennially, endlessly busy. Midterms came and went in a haze of sleep deprivation and studying, timed terribly in relation to the surge in business the bakery did at Easter. Despite his certainty that the wolf pair wouldn’t reappear until the next full moon, Dean still left early every work morning, hoping against hope that he’d hear the tell-tale signs that they lurked around him. There was no sign of the pair, though, save occasional distant yowls. Now that Dean knew what he was listening for, there was no confusing those wimpy yelps with the deep-throated howls the wolves made. When it wasn’t the full moon, coyotes or maybe feral dogs roamed the woods, but the wolves ruled the roost when the moon was bright.

Knowing the wolves wouldn’t show did nothing to prevent Dean from getting wood when he passed the tree against which he’d let the two debauch him.

Some nights, he ignored his arousal.

Some nights, he stopped and used the extra half hour he’d left himself to rub one out, leaning against the trunk and remembering how it had felt to be licked inside and out, imagining how it would be feel to be pinned beneath a beast as large as he and much stronger and fucked mercilessly. Dean hadn’t had a boyfriend since Benny in high school, hadn’t even had a fuck buddy since John died the previous year, and he was hard up, horny, and desperate.

_...for fur brushing sensual against my skin…_

_...claws digging into my muscles…_

_...a long tongue licking sloppily over my nipples…_

_...a boned cock thrusting inside me…_

Dean didn’t need to think beyond that to come with a soft moan, semen falling in thick streaks, white as snow against the bark of the tree.

The greatest shock was how readily Dean accepted his newly accepted kink. He’d thought about bestiality before, in vague terms - he’d loved how Benny, who’d been done _many_ favors by puberty, had been able to hold Dean down and _seize_ what he wanted from Dean’s body. Knowing what he did of monsters, Dean had considered how a wendigo might feel, how a vampire might feel, how a _beast_ would feel in the mindless throes of passion. The idea of being taken against his will had been alluring in theory, though in practice when he and Benny had enacted a rape fantasy one night Dean had nearly had a panic attack even though Dean had consented beforehand and knew the scenario they were playing through. The harsh meeting between dreams of being possessed and _actually_ being possessed had been a sobering wake up call for Dean. He didn’t want to be taken, not really, and he didn’t want a mindless monster, either.

Dean wanted a sexual partner…

...who also happened to be a bear.

And not in the way Benny was a bear.

_Were-bear? Probably too outlandish by half._

_But were-wolf? A pair of were-wolves?_

The dream had seemed impossible. Now, Dean tallied the days and watched the skies and waited, waited, waited as day by day the moon grew heavier in the sky.

* * *

Dean was so excited he couldn’t sleep. His cock was half-hard as he stared at the shadows made by the moonlight filtering through his window. Unable to bear the anticipation any longer, Dean stirred from bed early - for him, “early” was before midnight - got dressed for work, and started his walk. It would be better if he headed out early, anyway. If the night went anything like how he hoped, he’d need a shower before he could start his shift.

Better yet, the next night he didn’t have to work. His skin tingled at the mere thought of what the two wolves might do to him if they had all the hours of darkness together.

 _I’ll tell Sam I’ve got a date. He’ll understand, and he’ll ask no questions because he really,_ really _, doesn’t want details of what kinky shit he thinks I’m into._

 _He hasn’t the least idea_.

Now that Dean knew what to listen for, he caught how different the night of the full moon was than other nights in the forest. The scurry and creep of nocturnal creatures was nearly non-existent. On these nights, and no others, true predators roamed, and the native animals knew it and lay low. Dean imagined the wolves felling a deer, their mouths frothy red with fresh blood, the smell of it copper strong in the wind, sating themselves on the meat, then sating themselves on Dean’s body.

That _should not_ be hot.

_...wow, that hunting with dad fucked me up more than I expected…_

_...but if everyone is consenting…_

_...no one asked the deer’s consent..._

Dean let his worries go. The exchanges with the wolves _hadn’t_ been his imagination, for all he’d feared he was hallucinating. The hope that he’d find the two beasts at any moment was so keen that Dean shivered despite the warm, musky humidity of the early May night.

There wasn’t a sign of the wolves - not a rustle, not a howl, not a snuffle. Disappointed, Dean walked to the tree where he’d encountered them last time.

Nothing.

He walked to the north end of the forest, closest to his job.

Nothing.

He walked nearly all the way back toward home.

Nothing.

Disappointment mingled with a strange sense of fear that Dean couldn’t place. He wanted this _so badly_. Dean hadn’t wanted much in his life, and this seemed little enough to ask. Looking back on that first string of three nights, he thought the wolves had followed him the night before they approached him. The quiet spoke to them stalking in the dark, avoiding the moon shadows. They were _there_ , Dean was _sure_ of it, so why didn’t they come out so he could see them?

Maybe they hadn’t liked what they did with Dean?

Maybe it was a one-time thing?

Maybe...maybe...maybe…

Dean could theorize forever but all he had was supposition. He’d not dared research werewolves or bestiality pornography in the weeks since their first encounter. The only non-public computer he had access too, he shared with Sam. While Dean could easily, happily, embrace that he was twisted, he wouldn’t expose Sam to his perversion. The lack of information exacerbated Dean’s worries.

What if a Hunter had come and hunted the wolves? Dad had said there were others like him, others who _knew_ , had even suggested that Dean had met one - Dean theorized Bill Harvelle, Ellen’s husband, who had died in a suspicious hunting accident a few years before John died of a heart attack - but John had intentionally kept his children out of “the life” and Dean had honored that. There was a thrill to risking his life, an addictive quality to the surge of adrenaline Dean got while in pursuit of a foe, but Dean wanted to be an engineer, wanted to be a pioneer of cybernetics, wanted so much more than to die alone and unremarked in the woods with an obituary that described how he’d been mauled to death by a bear when in truth he’d been half-eaten by a wendigo.

_...or bitten by a werewolf?_

Having sex with the two wolves had, Dean reflected, given him a similar exhilaration to hunting.

Quelling his disappointment with an accepting sigh, Dean returned to where he’d met the wolves last time. He’d been too nervous to drink a thing before leaving home, so he didn’t need to pee, and he still had a couple hours before he had to head to work, so he sat heavily on the rotting tree trunk and considered what to do next. Dad had taught Dean tracking techniques. If he concentrated, if he focused, if he did some research on the signs of werewolf presence - how their feces looked, what the distinctive aspects of their claw marks were, how to identify their pawprints - Dean could track them at least through the forest, at least while they were in wolf form. But the wolves had - _must_ have - an exceptional sense of smell. If they wanted to see Dean, they knew where to find him, could follow his scent along his entire route, mirror his zigzagging back and forth as he searched for them, differentiate the older scents from his walk the day before, and the day before that, and the day before that, from the fresh trails he’d laid down this evening.

Moisture beaded down the trunk of the tree where, a month ago, Dean’s ass had been licked six ways from Sunday.

_What if they’ve been and gone? What if they’ve masturbated over the memory of me as I’ve masturbated dreaming of them?_

With a sigh, Dean let the memories wash over him, sliding down the dead log to rest on his ass amidst the damp leaves. Wood flaked and tore under his weight, and something with more legs than Dean wanted to think about skittered out of a spot of moonlight and into the dark. None of that matter. Dean was at half mast, cock making a bulge at the front of his pants, and Dean _wanted_. Letting his eyes slip shut, he slid his cock free and stroked up the velvet soft skin. Images filled his mind, accompanied with the ghost of the sensation he hoped to feel one day, and pleasure rose and rose.

Hot breath ghosted over Dean’s cock.

With a choked sound, Dean came, semen splashing hot on his hand.

The tongue of Dean’s dreams licked up the come. Dean forced his eyes open. One the wolves - he couldn’t tell them apart, couldn’t guess if this was the one that had licked his cock or his ass last time - was cleaning Dean, eyes closed as if the taste of Dean pleased him. The other watched.

“How long...you two...been there?” Dean panted. They both rose to sit on their haunches, staring impassively.

_Right, stupid-ass question, they can’t communicate anything so nuanced as a number of minutes or some shit._

_How long was I sitting here?_

_At least fifteen minutes. And as quiet as they are, I’d not have heard them approach…_

“Just as I thought, stinkin’ voyeurs,” he muttered, without resentment. The farther one nodded. Taking a deep breath, Dean decided to just _go for it_ , let his insecurities see the light of day (the shadows of night?) and find out if he was the only one obsessed with...whatever this was. “So, I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout you two for weeks,” he admitted. If they had done the same, they gave no sign. The one near him rose, loped away, settled next to the other, and identical pairs of blue eyes stared at Dean, assessed him. He felt...reduced...objectified...he felt like prey, except he knew he wasn’t, not to them. If they wanted to take him, if they wanted to turn him, if they wanted to kill him, it was within their power to do so at any time. Instead, they respected him, waited for him, listened to him, and Dean was so grateful for that.

“I really liked what we did last time.”

Two match snouts slid open. Two matching tongues lolled out. Two matching sets of lips seemed to curl into smiles that revealed two matching sets of powerful teeth.

“I’d, uh, I’d like to do that again, with both of you, if you wanted. Honestly, I’d like to do way more.”

No sign of agreement, or disagreement, or interest. No sign of anything.

_God, I hope I learn how to better read their intentions with time._

_God, I hope I get the opportunity._

“So, look, tomorrow is my day off. I got no commitments, no homework I gotta do, no school shit I gotta attend, and I was thinking I’d come here. Around 10? And if you want what I want, we can do that...and if not…” Dean blew out hard, letting his cheeks balloon out and then deflate with a huff. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, or not.”

The two wolves gave no interpretable sign that they’d agreed, but as a cloud drifted over the moon and then receded and a burst of bright moonlight brightened the glade, Dean caught matching glimmers - liquid pearled on two exposed, canine cocks, deep pink evident even in the darkness.

_Or I could skip work and get to the main event right now…_

_No. Tomorrow. I can prep, and we can take our time, and they’ll have a chance to consider my consent and decide if they want what I want. I think I was pretty clear._

Rising, Dean brushed leaves off his butt, stowed his cock, tore his gaze from the gorgeous silver wolves, and headed to work.

_Tomorrow. I’ve waited a month, I’ve waited a lifetime, and I can wait twenty four more hours._

_Tomorrow._

_Fuck, I’m starting to feel like fricken Little Orphan Annie._

_More like Red Riding Hood…_

The idea was oddly comforting to Dean. He’d always loved that story. He’d always wanted a fancy red cloak.

Maybe, if he kept his grades up, he’d get himself one with the remainder of his student loan money.

Humming a song he’d _never fucking admit_ was _Tomorrow_ from Annie, Dean headed to work.

It was going to be a good day.

* * *

The worst part about waiting was how every minutes stretched out like a lifetime, how every second was laden with anticipation. Dean tried to keep calm, reminded himself that patience was a virtue in a mental voice that sounded suspiciously like his mother’s dimly remembered from before she died. Patience was hard to come by, though. Desire and need thrummed hot through his veins, his cock hard since he’d prepped himself before heading out to the woods. The night was warm, a soft breeze rustling the leaves overhead but not brisk enough to penetrate amidst the tree trunks. Every sound seemed loud and fraught with meaning.

Twigs snapped like bang-snaps going off.

Any moment now…

_But what if they don’t come?_

The skittering of chitinous legs over wood sent a shiver down Dean’s spine as he imagined insects crawling on him from amidst the ground cover.

Any moment now…

_But what if they don’t come?_

A police siren served as a reminder of human society, _proper_ society, the world in which the prospect of Dean on his hands and knees in the forest with his ass exposed was anathema.

Any moment now…

_But what if they don’t come?_

Hooting in the canopy above him startled him so badly he started and yelped, his weight settling again so heavily his arms nearly gave out.

Any moment now…

_But what if they don’t come?_

Maybe waiting, prepared and exposed and positioned, hadn’t been Dean’s wisest ideas. Between the walking and the work he did at the bakery kneading bread and moving 50 pound bags of ingredients and shifting equipment, Dean was strong, toned, resilient, but even so, kneeling for what seemed hours was fatiguing.

Any moment now…

_But what if they don’t come?_

_God, I hope they come. Please let them come…_

_…preferably repeatedly…_

Fur brushed Dean’s exposed skin, paws wrapped around his waist and tugged him back, and powerful hips slammed against Dean’s ass. With a gasp, he tensed, arched off the ground, and soft, wet flesh save for a single stiff something – _bone, that’s the bone that dogs and wolves have in their cocks_ – jammed hard against Dean’s perineum, hit his balls, and he gasped again.

_Such silent, expert hunters, that they snuck up on me…fuck that’s hot…_

Dean’s cock went from somewhat limp to painfully hard within a few desperate beats of his pounding heart, blood surging through him until all he could hear was the rush in his ears. Willing himself to relax, to allow what he wanted to badly, Dean crossed his arms beneath him, lay his head on them, hoisted his ass up, and struggled to breathe evenly. The beast behind him thrust, thrust, claws digging into Dean’s belly painfully as he rocked Dean back, and back, and back. Wolf cock rutted against Dean’s outside, brushed against his hole. Desire abstracted Dean’s thoughts, fuzzied his awareness, but he focused on that one thing, his one burning need, pivoting to accommodate the wolf, until, until…

A burst of pain dissolved into an explosion of pleasure as, with one hard push, the wolf penetrated Dean fully. The wolf was heavy, about the size of a man, weight bearing down on Dean’s hips and knees, but his cock seemed small to Dean. He felt a flare of disappointment that was quickly subsumed. What the wolf lacked in length and girth, he made up for with intensity and relentlessness. The beast didn’t hesitate, didn’t wait for Dean to stretch to accommodate him, gave no consideration to Dean’s comfort; instead, he ruthlessly fucked Dean, hips slamming into Dean over and over, fur rubbing so roughly against Dean’s exposed ass cheeks and thighs that it was abrasive.

The longer the wolf fucked him, the _bigger_ the cock within Dean felt, and he tried to hold onto the thread, tried to remember what he’d read about canine physiology, but retaining any sensibility was impossible. Every thrust pressed ever-increasing pressure against Dean’s prostate, surged pleasure through him, forced loud gasps and breathy moans from his lungs. His cock bobbed, slapped against his belly, slapped against the wolf paws as they clutched him and dragged him into every thrust. Dean longed to touch himself, longed to stroke himself to the climax that burned just out of reach, but he wasn’t sure he could keep his face from getting ground into the moldering leaves beneath him if he moved his arms. He tried to relax into an orgasm without a touch to his cock – he’d heard such things were possible, seen it happen in porn a handful of times – but despite pleasure beyond anything he’d felt before, the pinnacle eluded him. He almost thought he couldn’t come _because_ it felt so good. There was no building, mounting desire, no steady intensification, there was only 110% maximum bliss with every fucking pivot of the wolf’s hips, and Dean’s gasps slowly dissolved into rapturous sobs. Over the rushing of his blood in his ears and the whistle of breath with every desperate inhale he made, Dean could just hear the wolf grunting with each thrust, panting, whimpering with pleasure.

_He loves this too._

_Holy fuck I have_ got _to touch myself._

Struggling to control his body, Dean leaned forward, straining against the wolf’s hold on him, and freed one arm. He reached back and—

A paw slammed against his arm, claws catching on the fabric of his shirt, and a growl seized his attention and sent a wave of pleasure cascading through him. With a moan, Dean blinked away tears and gunk in a vain attempt to see clearly. He could barely make out the beast beside him, tongue lolling as impossible blue eyes watched the spectacle of Dean getting fucked mindless.

“Please,” he begged, imploring the impassive monster. All he got by way of a reply was a slow, controlled blink that darkened the world, Dean’s night vision obliterated by the glow of blue. “Fuck… _please_ let me touch my—” The cock in Dean’s ass swelled abruptly, noticeably, and Dean broke with a groaning sob, squeezing his eyes shut. Forcing them open once more, he met the pitiless gaze of the wolf holding his arm down. “Please!”

The wolf shook his head solemnly.

Crying in rapture, crying at how _close_ he was yet out utterly out of reach his orgasm seemed, Dean surrendered, stopped struggling, accepted whatever they let him have.

He didn’t come.

But fucking _hell_ he felt _incredible._

His body rocked with every thrust, _was_ rocked by every thrust, flaring blue light against his eyelids and bliss through his limbs, his fingers, his toes. His muscles were liquid, weak, saturated, and the cock in him swelled, lengthened, thickened. It no longer felt small; it was enormous, incredible, penetrating him deeply, pressing hard, constantly, against his prostate. His lips moved around sobs and gasps and maybe words – he wasn’t sure if he was moaning _please_ and _so good_ aloud or only in his thoughts.

The wolf slammed into him hard, tried to pull back, and _couldn’t_.

 _We’re tied. That’s how wolves mate – the male mounts the female – no, the_ man _mounts the_ woman _, or, apparently, the other_ man _– and fucks them senseless until their cock thickens enough to tie their bodies together, and then—_

Come, hot and liquid, splashed inside Dean’s body. He’d had bareback sex before but he’d never been able to _feel_ his partner’s release in him, but, then, no human came so copiously, and no human’s body temperature was significantly higher than Dean’s. The wolf on him humped him, humped him, grunting and snuffling at Dean’s back, and came, and came, and came, until Dean felt swollen with it, until some switch in Dean’s brain demanded he expel what was filling him even as the pleasure _continued_ to mount. Muscles in Dean’s ass automatically engaged, squeezed, bore down, and the wolf howled in bliss and licked at the back of Dean’s neck, eager, desperate, nuzzling Dean as he rutted against Dean’s ass.

Dean’s vision went white and, blubbering, utterly out of control, he came. It felt like falling, like being dropped from the trees above to slam into the ground, and he howled himself, a pathetically human sound compared to the animal one of the beast above him.

When he finally returned to himself, panting and moaning, he slumped boneless against the wolf supporting him. They were locked together, bound, but the wolf no longer thrusted. Hot come continued to spill into him, leaking out around the tie to stream sticky down Dean’s thighs. Something brushed his cock. Choking on air, Dean came again as the second wolf licked him clean, licked him until he was flaccid, curled beneath him and supported him, warmed him. The wolf to whom Dean was tied hugged close against Dean’s back.

 _This is…nice_ …

After how rough the sex had been, Dean _needed_ the comfort of the two embracing him, though he’d not realized he needed it until they were there, holding him, licking him, petting him with the rough pads of their paws, rubbing him with soft fur. Relaxing into the support, Dean lost himself in gentler sensations. His ass yet throbbed, and the come dripping down his legs was disgusting, but the wolf over him was…purring? Did wolves purr? Rumbling, vibrating, cooing, something like that, whatever the right word for it was, it felt nice, a perfect, visceral reminder that, however kinky and perverted he was, Dean wasn’t in this…whatever it was…alone.

Gradually, the cock stretching Dean’s ass diminished, faded. As he relaxed and eased toward exhausted sleep, the wolf’s dick slipped out, slapped wet against Dean’s leg, and a flood of come splashed to the ground.

Dean slumped forward, weight supported by the wolf beneath him.

A burst of movement knocked Dean down, paws seized his waist, and with a possessive growl, the second wolf slammed into Dean’s loosened, stretched hole with a single thrust. Dean fucking _screamed_ – _screamed like a bitch, fuck, yeah, fuck me like a bitch, fuck me, fuck me, fuck me_ – and collapsed, only the paws and the cock in him to hold him up as the wolf that had oh-so-patiently waited his turn dominated Dean into oblivion. The time since the first wolf fucked him had been plenty long enough to revive Dean’s cock, and he hardened immediately. Every thrust mingled pain with sheer bliss, as good as the first time, maybe even better, because now Dean was replete, relaxed, sated yet ready for more. The wolf was anything but sated – starving for Dean, having waited his turn, and as merciless as the first wolf had been in seizing what he wanted. Dean’s throat ached from his earlier sobs, but he no longer had energy for such effusive displays of enjoyment. Instead, he moaned, whimpered, and grunted with each aggressive thrust. There was no point in Dean’s trying to help; he went limp and let the wolf _use_ him.

Fuck, but it was _glorious_.

The wolf who’d had his turn shimmied beneath Dean, huffed hot on his cock, and licked him, and Dean shattered with a soft moan. The wolf atop him wasn’t done with him, not even close, and didn’t slow, didn’t pause. The thrusts went on and on, pushing Dean into ecstasy, pushing him past ecstasy, until he wasn’t sure which he wanted more: for the wolf to stop immediately or for the feeling to never, ever end. The high was spectacular, addicting.

Dean was fricken _ruined_ for regular sex.

_I hope they want to do this again…again and again and again…_

He got hard a third time before the wolf finished, and the feeling of searing come filling him and streaming down his legs pushed him to a third climax as the wolf beneath him licked and sucked at his cock. Though he thought the feel of being tied should be familiar, given how recently it had happened to him, it somehow felt as new the second time as it had the first, and as incredible. He was stretched so damn _full_ , his body so _stuffed_ , and involuntarily, he rocked back against the cock in him. The wolf whimpered, come surged in Dean, and Dean couldn’t keep a dopey smile from his lips. Snuggled close between the two wolves, Dean felt _perfect_ : loved, cared for, blissed out, senseless. He was exhausted, but God, he was _happy_ , as happy as he could ever remember feeling. The last year plus since John had died had been tough but not _bad_. He and Sam were building a life together. Affection and pleasure had been lacking, though. Rutting back to feel wolf fur tickle his ass cheeks, his belly, Dean realized how touch starved he’d been.

Hopefully, he’d never have to be again.

Dozing passed the time in fits in and starts, but the feel of wolf cock sliding out of him woke Dean enough for him to be aware of the animals shifting around him. All three of them were satisfied, and Dean was dazed, lost, and content. They moved him easily, nuzzling and shoving and pawing him into some position, and Dean let them.

_I can pass the night right here…we can sleep together, and…_

A cock, already thickening, slid into Dean’s hole. All he had energy for was a soft moan. The first wolf was on him again, and if the thrusts lacked the ferocious, desperate authority that they’d had the first time, they were still plenty to force strained whimpers from Dean. Pleasure like pain seared through him with every thrust, but Dean was shocked he’d already come three times – he’d never done that in one night before – and he couldn’t get it up for a fourth. He teetered on the edge of something – he wasn’t sure what, but it was momentous, a diaphanous curtain of nothing that divided existence and oblivion – and he rode that edge, relaxed, willing, and open. Pain edged into the bliss with every thrust, but it never because overwhelming, and by the time the wolf tied him again, Dean couldn’t say if he was awake or asleep, if this was a dream or reality, if he’d come once or twice or a half dozen times or never. His cock stayed limp between his legs, his balls slapping back and forth as the wolf rode him, and without the recognizable end point of _cock spews come, erection goes limp_ Dean might have endured a lifetime of orgasms.

 _Oh, yeah, I’m utterly ruined, debauched, destroyed, in the best possible way. This is fucking glorious. This is_ glorious _fucking._

Dean was no longer surprised when, unknowable minutes or hours later, the wolf above him slid free, rolled off him, and the other took his place. Dean lost count of how many times they took him, how many times they filled him, how many times he gasped rapture. The ground beneath him was sodden with watery wolf come, a musky smell filled the air, infused Dean’s lungs, and Dean felt marked, felt claimed, felt owned, felt dominated, felt cared for, felt _loved_ , felt satisfied in ways he’d never realized he’d been unsatisfied. When he finally passed out, it was with  a breathy moan on his lip and a wolf cock tied in his ass and come soaking the bottom seam of his shirt and his dick throbbing flaccid between his legs.

He woke to thin, overcast daylight, the sound of bird song, and two wolves encompassing him, surrounding him, paws tender on his bare skin. Dean wasn’t sure when his clothes were removed, wasn’t sure when they’d finally stopped taking him, but he ached from head to toe. Dean lay on his side. One wolf pressed his back to Dean’s front, fur as soft as down, paws stretched out, head down, eyes closed. His chest rose and fell in steady, powerful breaths. The other wolf lay against Dean’s back. Dean twisted to see; he lay on all fours but was awake, alert, eyes open. He turned to meet Dean’s gaze, blue eyes bright and intelligent, and reached over and placed a soothing lick down the side of Dean’s face, as soft and tender and caring as a kiss.

With a happy sigh, Dean wrapped his arms around the wolf before him and fell back asleep. He was safe here. His wolves would never hurt him.

* * *

Fatigue tore a huge yawn out of Dean. It’d taken a month of healing from his first full night with his new...fuck buddies? Beastie boys? He had no idea how to think of his partners save as _his wolves_ , which felt over-possessive considering they’d never had a conversation beyond yes-or-no questions and the occasional rolled eyes. A month alone, counting the days until the next full moon, hoping against hope that what Dean had found wasn’t a one night stand, had finally culminated over the previous three days in marathon sex that stopped only when Dean was working or sleeping. Sam was trapped in AP week hell, but Dean was done with finals and  had a handful of days before Summer Session started, and so he’d told Sam he was getting laid, gotten the obligatory, “ewwww TMI, Dean,” in return, and spent three days straight (three days incredibly, incredibly not straight) in the forest.

It was the first day of Summer Session.

Fuck was Dean tired.

Stuffing his fist in his jaw against another yawn, Dean hefted his bags and headed to his next class. Summer classes were intense, an entire semester of material stuffed into five weeks of instruction, but Dean was aiming for a double major in Biology and Chemical Engineering, and couldn’t afford to take an extra semester to meet all the requirements, so he had two classes each “semester” of Summer. The goal was to apply to the Bioengineering program; his professors had said he was shoo-in provided he kept his grades up. As long as he took things one day at a time, he’d be fine.

The bell chimed to warn him he was running late. With a muttered curse, he bolted through the engineering building, contents of his bag clattering with every step. He was breathing hard by the time he reached the right room; he shouldn’t be winded so easily but he’d had a very...athletic...few days and his muscles were toast, his ass still aching. Stumbling into the doorway, he had an apology on his lips when he froze. Chemical Engineering Thermodynamics wasn’t the kind of class that had students beating down the doors to attend it, and Dean secretly suspected it was being offered over the summer primarily to accommodate Dean’s bizarre-ass schedule, but he was still shocked to see only two other students in the room, and no professor. The two students stood near the blackboard, talking quietly, and they turned when Dean entered the room. They were _identical_. Not just dressed similarly, but literally mirror images of each other, down to their hair style, their wardrobe, their blue eyes, and the way they both smiled when they saw him.

In the first instant, both those smiles were reserved, polite, curious as anyone might be about the only other student in a specialized class being offered in a sweltering room in the dead of summer.

Then the smiles fell away, to be replaced with wide-eyed shock, dropped jaws and, finally, new, far more predatory smiles.

 _I know those eyes_...

_...no, that’s impossible..._

_...is it?_

“Good afternoon, I’m Cassie,” said the one on Dean’s left, who had been eying an equation written on the board when Dean walked in.

“I’m Jimmy,” said the second. Their voices were identical too. “Don’t worry, the professor left a note, see?” Jimmy gestured at the board and stepped aside so that Dean could see where the professor had indicated she’d be 15 minutes late and that they should take copies of the syllabus and familiarize themselves with the content.

“Oh...uh...cool, guess I’ve got a moment to catch my breath,” Dean said with an attempt at casualness. With the two twins – _fuck, they’re hot, too, that black hair and those blue eyes and those predatory smiles and Christ am I screwed_ – staring at him, there was no _chance_ he was going to be calm or catch his breath.

_Seriously? Horny already? The last three days weren’t enough? This post-puberty libido thing has its advantages but mostly it’s bullshit._

“Dean,” he added.

“Oh, we know,” said Cassie, his smiling widening. “Surely, you suspected as soon as you saw us?” Unable to form a thought beyond _oh my God it really is them_ , Dean resorted to nodding.

“Though we didn’t expect to encounter you _here_ ,” Jimmy said.

“Your scent crisscrosses campus.”

“But it seemed rude to hunt you down.”

“After all, there’s a difference between us and...us.”

“So there might be a difference between you and...you.”

The brothers – they must be brothers, right? – finished each other’s thoughts easily, naturally, one talking on top of the other until Dean could scarce track which was speaking. They stalked closer to him, moving fluidly, not at all like they were exhausted from _fucking Dean’s brains out for three days_.

Dean’s cock twitched.

“It seemed only fair to give you some modicum of privacy.”

“But you smell so sweet, Dean.”

“You’re irresistible.”

“Like pie and donuts...”

“...and coffee and muffins.”

“We thought you must work at the Baker’s Boy.”

“Your scent never walked past there.”

“But we didn’t want to intrude.”

“Fate would decide if we met in person.” 

“And here I am,” Dean interjected, swallowing in an attempt to work moisture back into his mouth.

“Here we all are,” agreed one of them. Cassie, he thought.

“Last night was good for you, Dean?” asked Jimmy kindly. Dean nodded again, mouth too dry to form words.

“It was amazing for us.”

“You’re amazing for us.”

“It’s nice to finally be able to talk to you.”

“To ask you if things are okay.”

“To find out how you’re feeling.”

“To maybe have a chance to touch you the rest of the month.”

“You understand, our situation is...unusual. We don’t have many friends, and we’ve never met anyone like you before.”

“Don’t know anyone like you two, either,” Dean said hoarsely.

“Really?” said maybe-Jimmy, eyes wide and gorgeous and _fuck_ like six hours ago Dean had come staring into those eyes, or maybe staring into the other, identical pair fixed on him. Their attention was intense, arousing, distracting. They’d stopped crossing the room feet from him, maybe arms’ length away but it seemed much closer yet much, _much_ too far.

_They’re real – not just a 2 AM fantasy, not just my dream lovers who I meet a few days a month. And they’re interested. What if..._

“I told you he wasn’t experienced,” maybe-Cassie said smugly, whacking his brother on the arm.

“I mean, I’ve bottomed before...” said Dean. “But not...”

“But you want to?” The two spoke simultaneously, matching hopeful catches in their voices, matching worry furrowing their brow. Dean laughed helplessly.

“Fuck, for the rest of my damn life, if that’s an option,” said Dean. “You know you two have absolutely ruined me, right?”

“Not yet we haven’t,” said maybe-Cassie, confidence restored.

“That sounds like a challenge to me,” added maybe-Jimmy.

A body crowded Dean on either side as they closed the distance between him in a single stride. One kissed one of his cheeks, the other kissed the other, and Dean might be struggling to tell them apart but he knew the only thing he needed to know: Dean was the luckiest bitch on the planet.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got some asks on Tumblr about this fic, so I ended up writing up some little additional snippets.
> 
> Original posts [here](http://unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com/post/159341096233/important-question-do-the-twins-bite-dean) and [here](http://unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com/post/159338836483/the-first-time-dean-wakes-up-between-two-human).
> 
> (note that these were written as Tumblr...thingies...so they are not so formal nor so polished as the rest...)
> 
> I know a few folks asked for continuations of this...honestly that's unlikely. I have too much on my plate. But I do periodically ask for asks/head canons on Tumblr, and on days I'm doing that, if you dropped something about this fic in my box, I'd write something like the below...

casbakespie asked: Important question: do the twins bite dean?

 

unforth: 

Ya know I’ve been thinking about that too.

No. I really don’t think they do.

I think, at some point, they get it in their heads that turning Dean would be a fantastic idea. He’d have more stamina, he’d have a knot, his little asshole would be even tighter for them when they’re all wolves, all that fun stuff. They go back and forth one day, a few days before the next full moon, while Dean is off at a final. He’s been so stressed, and they’re done for the semester, and it’d make a great gift for him, right?

So Dean gets home and collapses on the couch and doesn’t want to move and they kiss him and mouth at him and coax him to arousal and then they lay it on him.

And Dean is _horrified_.

He doesn’t want to be a wolf. He doesn’t want to be a _male_  wolf. He doesn’t want to change _with_  them. He loves them just the way they are, and he loves how them as wolves make him feel when he’s a _human_. He’d lose that - lose that _forever_  - if he changed when they did. He’d _always_  be a wolf when they were wolves, and only ever be human when they were humans, and that glorious used feeling that he adores so much would be denied to him for the rest of his life.

At first they are _incredibly_  confused why Dean says no (Jimmy goes on a rant about fetishism and Dean being a selfish asshole and blah blah blah) but Cassie will punch him (just literally punch him) and Jimmy will snap out of it and it’s never an issue again. Yeah, they talk it through, but it would have been okay if they hadn’t.

Dean said _no_.

That’s all they really need to know.

* * *

 

casbakespie asked: The first time Dean wakes up between two *human* twins instead of wolves, it's as Cas nuzzles into the back of his neck and then pushes into his come-slick, abused hole. Jimmy's also awake, is stroking both their cocks together as Cas rocks into Dean. Cas is babbling about how *loose* and *full* Dean is, and Jimmy's grunting wordless approval. Dean is in such daze, the twins don't even realize he's awake until he cries out as he comes. (srry but these were my thoughts this morning so...)

unforth:

They’re still in the woods, still lying on the same patch of grass they’d chosen for that night’s activities - there’s something just flat-out awkward about having marathon bestiality sex in an apartment, it weirds all three of them out - and Dean would have been prepared to swear he couldn’t come again. He wasn’t really awake when Cas started - like, half aware, but figured it was probably a dream. He never saw the twins during their transition, and on the morning of their change they usually left before Dean woke up, which he secretly hated but he could tell that it made them uncomfortable to be near him when they switched. Whatever has changed, they’re apparently no longer uncomfortable, and he wakes up to Cas’ moans and babbling, his thoughts getting finished by Jimmy’s near feverish incoherence about how much he wants to be next and when Dean comes the sound of Jimmy’s broken, miserable voice waiting his turn is more than he can bear and he croaks out _both of you, give me both_  and after the night before he’s so stretched and slick that taking both is _easy_  and feels _incredible_  and Dean ends up coming fricken _again_ , both twins moaning through their climaxes, and Dean is reminded for the umpteenth time that he is completely and utterly ruined for anyone else, ever.

casbakespie: 

i’m so glad you went with the double penetration because the askbox didn’t give me enough room to get to it

i love how the twins hadn’t even considered it, though, like it never even crossed their minds before dean begged… have they only had sex with them in their wolf forms before this?

unforth: 

Oh, oh, there was no WAY I wasn’t going right to DP on this, lol.

Honestly I think that since neither twin had ever been with anyone other than the other, and their relationship had always been more about fighting for dominance and pinning the other down and _forcing_  them (even though they both secretly loved it and there were no actual consent issues, they just both wanted to top and were prepared to fight for the chance and the aggressive alpha/alphaness of it all was such a fricken turn on) that it had never occurred to them that DP was an option. Like, kinkiness in one department isn’t kinkiness in all departments and a desperate, needy bottom like Dean is so alien and inconceivable to the twins that they simply hadn’t thought it through. 

For Dean’s part, I think he’s so busy counting his lucky stars, and he’s such a subby bottom, so desperate to be used, that he’s really bad at asking for what he wants or suggesting ideas for the bedroom. He assumes they know that he’s theirs for the taking so if they haven’t done something it’s because they don’t want to and who is he to push? It’s not until he’s holding Jimmy in his arms, Castiel fucking him hard from behind and Jimmy sobbing with the need to _get in Dean, dammit Cassie hurry the fuck up_  that Dean has this moment of crystal clarity that somehow DP hasn’t crossed their minds and he needs it so _incredibly bad_  that with his willpower weakened by his climax he just spills his desires like he spills his come.

They’ll do it _a lot_  after that. Dean has a size kink a mile wide, as it turns out…and he always sounds so sweet whimpering and moaning and breathing that it’s too much yet not enough and coming and coming…

(…and then there’s the time they try for TP…)

* * *

 

dr-dean: Woah, who’s the third for TP?

unforth:

pfffft there’s no third there’s no way Jimmy and Cas are letting another human being anywhere _near_  their boy (heck, they’re jealous of Benny, and Dean and Benny have been apart for like two years because Benny left for college, but the way Dean speaks fondly of that time and it’s clear that if Benny had come back and Dean had been single they’d have likely ended up back together, and so they won’t let Benny near him. There’s growling involved. It shouldn’t be possible for hackles to rise when the twins are human form but there are definitely hackles involved.

No, they get a toy - I am at work right now and looking up sex toys on the work computer is a no-no so I can’t link - that they can strap to one of their dicks, giving one of them two dicks, which also makes the logistics of sticking that many big male bodies in close proximity that much easier.

Jimmy and Cas have a knock down, drag out fight over which of them gets to wear the toy, which Jimmy ends up winning. Though they all usually prefer sex rough, this time they get Dean off once first before even starting, and when he’s loose and ready they gentle, so gently, stretch him. He’s been training for months for this at this point, wearing increasingly large plugs to sleep, that kind of thing, but even so, there’s not much given when Jimmy and the toy stretch him full. Working Cas in as well takes _ages_ , soft touches and coaxing words and Dean quietly crying even as he insists he can take more, he wants to take more. They manage to get all three dicks in him, and merely filling him all the way pushes Dean to sobbing climax, but he tenses when he comes and Cassie cracks first - it’s too much pressure on his cock, and he pulls out.

Jimmy slips out too, takes the toy off, and they go back to just the two of them, warm and comfy and their perfect bitch’s perfect ass, with the promise that they’ll try again some other time, maybe when Dean is so gone that he can’t come again, so he can’t tense up…they know how much he loves overstimulation…

**Author's Note:**

> I've been absentee for a while cause I've been writing like mad. I finished the first draft of my Dean/Cas/Jimmy Big Bang story. It's 90,000 words give or take and will be posting sometime in mid-May. Around the same time - sometime around May 20th? - I'll be posting my Captain America Reverse Bang, which is just started and is Stucky, and is likely to also be very long. Don't expect much else from me until then.
> 
> As always, follow me at [unforth-ninawaters on Tumblr](unforth-ninawaters.tumblr.com) for updates, info, and what not. Or, ya know, unfollow me if I've squicked the crap out of you with my love of bestiality. ;)


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